A Daughter's Duty
by OrangeShipper
Summary: "The doctor's gone, your Lordship, but he's coming back after dinner. Lady Mary's with her now." One-shot written on a spontaneous urge, considering Mary's thoughts as she sits with Lady Grantham following the miscarriage.


A/N: _I have done a bit of a Downton marathon over the last couple of days, and finished off with episode 7 this morning. I have utterly no idea why, but this just came to me while I was watching and I just had to write it straight away. Not even properly thought through, not beta-ed, just written - so I can't promise you any sort of quality! But the muse demanded, and I obeyed! (I honestly don't even know whether it makes sense. Selling this well, aren't I!)_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!_

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><p><em>"The doctor's gone, your Lordship, but he's coming back after dinner. Lady Mary's with her now."<em>

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><p>The air in the room felt thick, cloying. Stifling. Mary's lips parted and she sucked in a deep breath, as much air as she could though it didn't seem to fill her lungs at all. She felt strange… Her face felt strange. Trembling. As though she wanted to cry, but… couldn't quite. She couldn't seem to do anything with her lips, form them into any shape.<p>

Beside her, reclining (elegant; always so elegant, even now) on the bed lay her mother, ashen-faced, her lips grimly downturned. Mary glanced at her; she might have expected tears but those had been and gone, her mother had no energy left to expel them. She moistened her lips nervously. Discomforting though she found it, her place was here; no matter what lay between them in the past or the future (good or ill), for now, her place and her duty was here. Of course it was.

"Can I get you anything, Mama? Even some water?"

Cora's hand clutched Mary's a little tighter.

"No." The sound barely passed her lips, accompanied by the slightest shake of her head. Her eyes were downcast, desolate. She felt numb, utterly numb; aside from the dull ache in her belly, a taunting reminder. The warmth of her daughter's soft hand offered little comfort.

Mary's thumb stroked absently across the back of her mother's hand. Her other plucked idly at her dress, a small distraction from the cold, sick feeling pooling in her stomach.

Oh, her heart ached for her mother. Yes it did, of course it did, and also for the unborn brother she had just lost. She loved her mother – her rock, despite their occasional friction – the Countess' pain was palpable, and yet… All Mary could think of was him.

It had only taken moments for the implications of the tragedy to sink in, once the initial shock had passed and the flash of concern had been duly felt.

He was the heir again. Undoubted, undisputed. It couldn't possibly be that simple… But yet somehow it was. And at the same time it wasn't. For how… how could she possibly take him now, how could he possibly have her, when she had tarried so up until now? To turn around so, now that he was once more secured… No, he wouldn't have it, she knew.

She swallowed thickly, watching her mother in concern. Foolish, unthinking girl! How could such thoughts be preying on her at such a time? Well, it was natural, but that did not make it right! Despite her best efforts, her mind kept straying back to him. His face, his voice, how angry he had been… His lips, oh, his kiss and oh, how desperately she wanted to marry him… Foolish, foolish girl!

A sharp intake of breath and the cold, clammy feel of her mother's hand dragged her back to this claustrophobic room. Cold guilt swirled in her. She should be sad, of course she should be sad and she was; for her dear mother, for her father… But not for herself. Or for him. And that made her feel worse.

And so she remained, being the true and faithful daughter, sitting by her mother's side and holding her hand in her distress. Playing the part. Doing her duty. Thinking of him. Hating herself. Loving her mother… Loving him. Almost welcoming the discomfort to outweigh her own guilt.

She was glad that words were not necessary. She leant and kissed her mother's hot forehead, gently brushing the damp hair from her cheeks. Her dearest mother; who she _should _be thinking of. Not him.

Not him.

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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for reading! It really was such a random urge, so I hope it was sort of worth it. Comments, thoughts and reviews always gratefully appreciated! Thank you!_


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